The Dance Ends Differently
by TheGreatStag
Summary: The Dance of Dragons ended when King Aegon II died and the Black armies seized King's Landing, but what if in the interval period a few things went a little differently? This story will be exploring those slight differences and what changes they could lead to.
1. Prologue

**Cregan Stark - Late 131 AC – Kingsroad approaching the Kings Landing**

' _A few more hours and the gates of Kings Landing will be within sight, and I will end this war'_

The Lord of the North sat upon his destrier, looking over what was perhaps the most powerful force in the entirety of Eastern Westeros as it marched down the Kingsroad. A coalition of twelve thousand, six thousand rivermen and eight thousand valemen, not to mention the countless hedge knights and mercenary bands that joined them as they made their journey south.

Cregan thought dismissively of the hedge knights, seeing as most of them were the broken remnants of great battles such as the Fishfeed and the Battles of the Tumbleton. But rather they serve as fodder for the dragons and arrows rather than his own men, he supposed. He had them chose a few knights amongst their numbers which he could use to direct the rest. Lyman and Tytos were chief amongst them. He knew little about either of them but he was certain that he could rely upon for killing if nothing else.

Cregan thought back to what he had said earlier; 'his men', such a statement was rather controversial; while he held full command of the northmen as was his right, the rivermen and valemen weren't so easy to command. The rivermen, which had been fondly called the 'Lads' for their age and enthusiasm, deferred to him with ease and gave good counsel when required but at the same time, their youth made them rowdy and rash. Especially after their victory at the Muddy Mess which had broken the Stormlords and had incidentally cleared the way for them. Between the three leaders of the Lads he had come to make a special connection to lovely Alys Blackwood. While he had not bedded the lady he could confidently call himself closer to her than a mere friend.

The valemen were another issue altogether, most of them were loyal but almost entirely green and thought far too much of their untested skills. Led by Ser Albert Arryn, cousin to the Lady of the Vale; Jeyne Arryn. The elder knight was a competent commander but proud and haughty, seemingly of nothing but his name. Cregan felt the man was reliable if completely dislikeable. _'Such could be said of the entirety of the valemen'_

The majority of the valemen dragged their feet and were absolute bastards to deal with, asking for more food, constantly whoring, drinking and making fools of themselves. They had gotten into fights more than once with northerner and riverman alike. Forcing Cregan to have angry words with Ser Albert more than once, much to his annoyance.

He looked at the siege weapons that had held up his army at Moat Callin, he had despised the delay that their construction had forced upon him but nevertheless they were necessary. Kings Landing had switched hands constantly between the blacks and the greens as the war went on, he wouldn't know who was greeting him until the city was in sight. Especially as for all he knew the had managed to rally and retreat in good order back to the city. But as his father told him; a little prudence went a long way. And as the army got closer to the capital, Cregan mused on why he why he was even here in the first place.

' _Jacaerys Velaryon, the prince who flew half the distance of the continent to beg for northern swords'_

While House Stark had acquiesced with the confirmation of Rhaenyra as the Heir to the Iron Throne when King Viserys demanded it of them, it seemed that not every Great House had done so. Hightower, Lannister, Redwyne, Baratheon and more had forgotten the edicts of Viserys when Winterfell first heard of rebellion and war Cregan's first response was to shrug. ' _For what did Winterfell care for which Valyrian arse sat on the Iron Throne?'_ So long as they were left well enough alone and respected, it did not matter a whit to the Northern Lords. That changed with the entrance of the Velaryon Prince and the Pact of Ice and Fire he signed at Winterfell on the authority of the Iron Throne.

The Stark snorted, ' _the Pact of Ice and Fire, what a farce, such a grandiose title for what is my due'_ at the overly grand name that was placed on a series of trade agreements, new titles, tax reductions and an increase of autonomy. He didn't snort at his promised Targaryen bride, no that was to be his crowning achievement. No other Stark or northern house had wed their blood with the Dragons, and such an achievement would only go further in strengthening Stark authority and prestige.

In theory, such a treaty was only effective as long as there was a Black sitting on the Iron Throne. Cregan had hoped for Rhaenyra but with the rumours that had been whispered by the smallfolk fleeing Kings Landing, it was entirely possible that the black queen was dead. Which was unfortunate but largely irrelevant. ' _Black or green I care not which dragon rules so long as the wolf gets its due'_ In Cregan's mind he had the strength; both militarily and politically to enforce his wishes upon whatever faction awaited him in Kings Landing. He had enough clout to make the valelords pliant to his wishes and he made fast friends with Lords Tully and Blackwood, for Roddy's glorious victory at the Fishfeed had made rivermen love the North more than anything he could do.

Roderick Dustin. What could be said about the man? ' _A finer warrior the north has rarely seen.'_ The Battle of the Lakeshore, the Butchers Ball and the First Battle of Tumbleton; the north and river celebrated the victories of Roddy the Ruin every night and every day with song and stories. Cregan joined them gladly as without the man, the war might have been lost and with it chances of Stark advancement.

"Lord Stark! Lord Stark! We have reports from the scouts!" A rider approached Cregan's guards, one of the few horsemen that the Riverlands could still call upon. The man looked young, but his armour was old and used. Any sigils or any discerning mark had long been scratched off or covered in mud. Seeing that he had caught the attention of the Lord of the North, the rider bowed his head in respect and mumbled "Milord Stark," before continuing, "Lord Benjicot has sighted the city. The gates are open and the way is clear but there's fighting in the city milord, we don't know who's fighting who but it sounds fierce as anything milord"

Cregan dismissed the rider and began giving orders, "Mycah, tell the drummers to set a pace for a quick march. Joros, get me Sers Albert, Tytos and Lyman." For the third man, Cregan looked him in the eye, "Brandon, raise the banner high and rally the men, for blood is to be shed this day."

 **Royce Caron – Late 131 – King's Landing**

"Stormlanders! FORWARD CHARGE!"

"No Mercy for the Green bastards!"

"For Lord Daemon and the Black Queen!"

"One more push boys! One more and they'll shatter!"

By this point, Royce was more than well accustomed to the sounds of war; the screams and shouts of battle were barely anything new to him. He was a Marcher Lord, his House had defended the borderlands between the Stormlands and Dorne for millennia. He had killed his first man when he was three and ten, and since then he had proudly done his duty to Nightsong and the Storm's End. Now that he was a man grown with sons of his own that had been blooded he was somewhat less enthusiastic about his duty.

"Oh do they ever ?"

Royce looked to the man nearest to him, Ser Durran Hartong. The knight's once resplendent armour was coated black with blood and scratches but the man was still fought and killed as if he wasn't exhausted from fighting hours on end without any kind of respite. _'Or maybe that's just you and these old bones of yours Royce',_ Royce signed at the thought, for there was truth in it. He was no longer a young man.

"They do when they're dead, so keep killing them and maybe we'll get some peace and quiet!"

Royce's reply was met with chuckles and laughter from the near him. Giving some much-needed brevity to the grim work they had been doing for much of the day.

"Fuck the King!"

Of course, there was a rude interruption to men's brevity in the form of a swordsman who charged the Lord of Nightsong. Screaming as he attacked and wielding a longsword and a truly devastatingly ugly face, Royce was forced on the backfoot by the sheer aggression of the man. That didn't last long, as Royce blocked a wild swing with his kite shield and ended the fight with thurst through the man's throat. He left the man to die gurgling his own blood and moved on. ' _Sixteen'_

Luckily the square that Royce and his men were occupying were currently free of anything that wanted to kill them, giving them a small break.

One of the guards on his left spat at his own dead enemy, "Fuck me, these cunts are shit fighters, aren't they? All they know how to swing a sword and scream."

A reply sounded out, "These cunts are the dregs, some unlucky bastards given swords and given free rein to do whatever they want"

"Why?"

"Fuck knows, the Blacks want the city and they'll do anything to get it"

"I thought it was the Goldcloaks? Or is it the Riverlords?"

"How are we getting out? We're in the middle of a godsdamn city!"

As the men conversed amongst themselves, Royce sat down on a nearby seat and was considering how they'd get out of here alive. They didn't have enough men to fight their way out city or and harbour of Kings Landing simply didn't have any ships. He could surrender to the Blacks but he didn't have much faith in the generosity of the cunting bastards.

"My lord, here." Royce looked to a knight offering him a flask of water, the man was unrecognisable due to the filth and damage his armour had taken, rendering him anonymous. Royce grunted in thanks and drank greedily from the flask, burying any complaints about how the stale the water was and instead enjoyed the refreshment.

As he tilted his head upwards and drank something caught his eye, a large black shape hurtling across the sky. _'Maybe the Riverlords had siege weapons?'_ at least Royce hoped to the Old Gods and the New that it was a siege weapon. That hope died when the shape in the sky changed its direction mid-flight. What was even more worrying was that the shape seemed to be getting bigger.

"GET OUT OF THE SQUARE! SCATTER!"The sheer panic in their Lord's voice took them by surprise and stunned them. The draconic screech directly above them forced them into rapid action as men who were once idly talking, ran into alleyways and threw themselves as far away from the square as humanly possible.

Not a second too late as the black mass landed right in the centre of the town, as Royce feared it was a dragon but uniquely one without a rider. Royce resisted against the urge to throw himself to his knees and weep. _'Why? Why is there a wild dragon in Kings Landing? Why now? Fuck my life'._ Royce had barely two hundred men with him, he could try to slay the beast but he would no doubt lose his life in the process and dozens of his men, and already the dragon had spat fire at some of his men that got too close.

Royce look at the monster could kill him in greater detail, he was no expert of dragons but this one seemed especially mean with its curved horns and terrible red eyes, its thick scales were a muted purple gave it almost a royal presence when paired with the night black skin it had. Overall, it had a certain beauty but it was still a bloody wild dragon.

He needed to rally his men and get them away from the dragon maybe that earlier idea of fighting their way out wasn't so bad. But as Royce left his cover and attempted to rally his men in an attempt to leave, the dragon turned its head towards him and promptly set him on fire.

"AAAAAAHHHHH, HELP, GODS HELP ME!" Royce Caron screamed with agony as he burned to death. The made his once sturdy armour liquid and amplified the man's pain as his armour fused with skin. His men could do little but watch as their liege died in agony however Ser Durran rushed across the square to meet his Lord, complete unmindful of the dragon and when close enough he swung his longsword, taking Royce's head clean off. The headless burning body collapsed and the continued to burn.

"When we return to the Nightsong, Lord Caron died in battle the Goldcloaks. Are we agreed?"

A series of "Yes, Ser", rang out followed by dragon's roar.

 **Lord Corlys Velaryon – Late 131AC – Red Keep**

Where had it gone wrong?

He remembered the first Black Council when he swore his House over to Rhaenyra, the pride he felt then. The righteousness he felt, standing by a man he called brother, swearing his loyalty to a woman he knew was good and just. ' _What happened between then and now?'_ He had been one of the most powerful black Lord equal to any Lord Paramount and call upon more wealth and naval strength than Dorne or the lesser Free Cities.

Then Rhaenys died at Rooks Rest, then Driftmark was sacked, then his family died one by one. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey. _'The Hightowers named them Strong bastards but they died as Velaryons'_ They might have been the sons of Rhaenyra but he had wept for them as if they were his own.

Addam of Hull, the rider of Seasmoke. The boy that he had broken with Rhaenyra over, _'and I would do so again if given the chance'_ when he saw Addam he saw the shade of Laenor. It was uncanny when Addam spoke or fought or even smiled, all Corlys could see was his son returned to him from the grave. And for even the memory of Laenor, Addam and to extension Alyn and Nettles would have his love forever.

Daemon, his friend, his brother. He remembered decades ago when he crowned Daemon as King of the Stepstones, that had been a glorious day. They had felt unstoppable, nothing in the world would have dared challenge them. How did that great man die to a fool of a boy like Aemond? That half-breed one-eyed squealing runt. Daemon was a conqueror, a king in the mould of Aegon the Dragon himself. The only claim that Hightower bastard had to greatness was the dragon he rode, apart from that he was a base thug and shit one at that. _'What kind of fool loses his eye to three boys half his age he starts a fight with?'_

If the gods had been fair he would have died long ago, before his sweet Rhaenys or his handsome Laenor or his beautiful Laena. He was old and grey now, where there had been strength and the will to do what needed to be done there was nothing. He was tired of the war, he was tired of dragons, he was tired of the fighting, all he wanted to visit the graves of his kin and then crawl up somewhere to die in peace. _'By the Fourteen, is that too much to ask? I failed in my duty as a father, a husband and a man. Let me die'_

It was a source of bitter irony that the only thing Corlys had made himself good at was being a sailor. And yet in the youth, he now barely remembered, his father had once called him the worse failure of a sailor that he had ever beheld. A father whose face and name he had long forgotten, a mother's love he had never been able to recall after his fiftieth nameday. Men asked for long life and prosperity, yet he found himself overburdened with it. Corlys couldn't even remember if he had siblings, at one point he was certain of it but now he wasn't quite so sure.

His entire life seemed half-remembered, a series of events with all emotion numbed. His victories, his failures all meaningless when he looked back on it. What was the point of sailing to the east, spending years and decades amassing wealth and fortune if it all burnt within a few hours? What was the point of loving and having children, being with them supporting them for years on end giving them support and love and everything he had, if they all died and left him cold and alone? What was the point of life when he was everything he did, every effort he made turned to ash upon his tongue.

Corlys sauntered to the balcony of the room he had stumbled into, mumbling through an old shanty song he stole from the Braavosi. Taking swigs from the bottle of rum he had asked a servant to get for him before everything when to shit. As he slumped over the railing and surveyed the city before him, he took another swig of rum. "God, what a shit hole."

Of all the cities he had been to, Kings Landing had always been his least favourite, it smelt like an unwashed dog in the best of times and a decaying unwashed dog in the worst of times. The people seemed eternally wretched no matter how wealthy or affluent they were. King Landing always came up short when compared to other cities. Now after two sacks and currently going through an invasion, it actually seems somewhat better. ' _The scent of blood and ash was better than that of shit'_

He could hear the fighting from here, the sheer violence was astounding he thought. Men killing each other with almost stunning enthusiasm. As he watched the city get ravaged by gods know how many different armies, Corlys idly wondered if this had how it had been for the Driftmark when it had fallen. With the screaming, and the terror and the bands of men raping and pillaging as they were wont to? ' _Probably',_ he shrugged in thought.

If there was any sympathy in Corlys it had long died, maybe while Rhaenyra had him beat half to death for protecting the last of his line or while he stayed humiliated in the Black Cells. Either way, Corlys watched a man get cut open and strangled with his own entrails and responded by casually taking another swig of rum. He saw another poor bastard get hacked to death by a group of boys with short swords.

After what he felt to be hours of watching atrocities, he heard a roar. A roar he had heard a thousand times before, a dragon. Then seemingly out of nothing it arose, its great black wings beating and its terrible maw gave another deafening screech. Corlys looked at its angry red eyes and smiled, spreading his arms out and waiting for the inevitable. ' _Rhaenys, Laenor, Laena, I'm coming'_ But instead of meeting his end, the dragon came forward to meet him. Its fanged smile and fearsome size would have made most hardened knights consider retreat or had been would have at least taken a step back. But a man with nothing to lose was a dangerous thing, and Corlys stood unafraid and met the dragon's stare unflinching.

' _What is this urge I feel?'_ Corlys raised out his hand and rested it upon the snout of a beast that could swallow him whole. And yet Corlys felt no fear but instead, he felt a kinship arise out between him and the dragon before him. The old man closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the beast. Where he once felt old and weak, a new strength entered him. Where there had been melancholy and apathy he was filled with fire.

He looked at the dragon which he had just claimed and thought of what he could name it. It would be valyrian but also of the sea. The name of it came to him, a monster that had featured in a long-dead story of the early Freehold.

With a voice, that held a strength to it which it had lacked previously, Corlys spoke, "I name you, Chaerybdis, a terror which I once feared but now I welcome."

With the vigour of a man a quarter of his age, Corlys leapt upon the neck of the beast finding a position where he could sit comfortably. The dragon gave a great flap of wings and then ascended further into the sky. Roaring a challenge to all the world as it ascended further and further above the city.

Corlys look upon the horror and sought thought, with a dragon he could decide who would win the city. Blacks or Greens, and so make himself a powerbroker upon either.

He remembered Rhaenyra, that beautiful woman he had thrown his support behind, her heirs bore his name and she had placed the Velaryon seahorse upon her own personal banners. Daemon died for her.

He remembered Aegon the Elder, who had freed him from his imprisonment. And Aemond who had killed both Lucerys and Daemon.

As he mused on his choices, Chaerybdis had grown bored with merely watching the carnage and instead to join in. The dragon entered a descent, its jaws open and alit. As the dragon began to set the poor fools below it aflame, Corlys gave a roar of his own.

"DRACARYS!"


	2. Dying Embers

**Benjicot Blackwood – King's Landing – 131 AC**

Ben Blackwood was one and ten when he lost his father at the Battle of the Burning Mill. If he was truly honest, Ben had barely been a part of the battle. He had kept in the reserve with the rest of the greenboys. Had the Bracken horse not charged the right flank and threatened a collapse then he wouldn't have faced battle at all. When it was over, the men told him that House Blackwood had won that battle but Ben had saw no victory that day. _'Only corpses'_

Today he lost a mother, while Alys had been his aunt by blood it had been her who had mothered him since his own had died bleeding on the birthing bed. It was Alys that had read him stories when he couldn't sleep or when the older squires picked him it had been Alys to protect him. She had been as close to him as nothing else in the world, and now…

A few more tears left him as he stared at the wrapped body, the linen used soaked in scented oils to mask the smell. He had seen the body without the linen and it was horrifying. There was no gentle to say it, most of the skin had been burned off completely ' _and in some places it had been possible to see the bone'_. Ben couldn't bring himself to connect the charred thing in front of him with the strong and beautiful woman that he seen a scant few hours ago.

He remembered Stark's impromptu war council, Alys had been commanded to lead the second wave of soldiers through the Old Gate to reinforce Lord Kermit's initial charge. ' _Why did I not protest the order? I would have gladly died in her place'_. The invasion had gone almost perfectly as Lord Stark planned, on all fronts the Green's were disorganised and breaking, and by evening the city would be theirs.

' _And then. The dragon'_

A column of purple and red fire descended down from the heavens and unto the cobblestone-paved road of Jaehaerys Street. _'The men call it the Street of Ash now'._ The flames cared not for Green or Black, they burned both with impunity. From the scattered reports from what few survivors from the battle, the fire had began from the Red Keep and had annihilated the Greens in their entirety.

That caused the men to cheer for a few seconds but the beast hadn't stopped. Their cheer quickly turned to screams when the dragon continued its stream of flame unto the Black lines. It stopped before long but that was that meant nothing to the scores of blacks that were already aflame and screaming. Alys was among them, ' _She led from the front as brave as any other'._ Ben could barely look at the body for long before he was forced to tears.

So he left the mansion that the Blackwood men had seized in his name as he made his way out he received respectful nods from the men. Ben mused on the matter as way to distract his mourning mind. It wasn't long ago that he was seen as a green boy, barely used wielding a sword. But now? When men remembered the Dance of Dragons, the Lord of Raventree Hall 'Bloody' Ben Blackwood stood as a major warlord of the conflict. The victor of half a dozen battles and countless skirmishes, and a dragonslayer to boot! Such accolades were far cry for a second son who's own father expected little from. And now with the disappearance of Lord Kermit during the Battle for King's Landing, he stood as Warden of Trident in the interim.

Although if the rumours were true, Stark wanted to see House Blackwood as the most powerful house of the Trident. Rumours varied from House Blackwood being granted Harrenhal or Stone Hedge or even Oldstones, while what land or castle was being given to him varied, the constant was that it was being done at the behest of Lord Stark. While Ben was more than pleased for such advancement he had to wonder why the Lord of the North favoured him so heavily. For while House Blackwood had always got along well the northmen for they both worshipped the Old Gods, they had made no extraordinary effort to ingratiate themselves with the northerners.

Thus Ben was forced to speculate why, and all that had done was make him assume that there was some political machinations going above his head. _'Well, I'm sure I'll find out at some point'_ Politics had always been difficult for Ben to grasp mostly because his Maester had barely started teaching him before the war started but the fact that Ben was a second son, learning politics seemed pointless when he wouldn't need it.

Either way, Ben may have been young but he wasn't a fool. He was aware of the tensions arising within the Blacks, what had once been united behind the strength of Lord Stark was now factionalised with the reintroduction of the Sea Snake and his dragon. From what his men had heard and passed unto him, the Valelords prefered Velaryon over Stark and so had shifted their support accordingly.

Although, Ben thought that preference was due less to the aged charms of the Sea Snake and more the size of his dragon. Regardless of how large Velaryon's dragon was Ben would not support him, ' _how could he when he had lost kin by the dragon's flame?'_ and Ben had yet to even glimpse the Sea Snake let alone receive some kind of apology. The valyrian had kept himself to the harbour and the Red Keep, for reasons that yet escaped him.

And anyway, Ben had greater issues to deal with as he had been ordered by Lord Stark to support the Goldcloaks in restoring order to city. Even with a thousand veteran river and northmen as his command, pacifying the city was far more difficult than he had expected. The greens that had not died in the battle scurried to the shadows and were plotting rebellion in secret. It was to Ben to ensure that such men did not threaten the Black hold on the city. _'Not as if it could be in any more in threat'._

While the Blacks held King's Landing, Stark had threatened to take his army to Harrenhal more than once over what could euphemistically be called 'disagreements' with the Sea Snake. Although they were closer to open conflict than any kind of discussions and with no peaceful resolution in sight. Stark's northern lords were especially bitter over the Street of Ashes, only barely holding off from open declaring Corlys a traitor for swearing his allegiance to Aegon the Usurper and killing Black swords.

As for himself, Ben stood with the northmen on this matter, for had it not been northmen led by Roddy the Ruin that had supported the Riverlords? Who was Corlys Velaryon to him but the dragonrider who killed his sister?

No, if the Northlords left King's Landing then the Riverlords would leave with them. He swore it on the Ravenstree, he swore it on linen-wrapped body he walked away from, he swore it on Alys.

 **Larys Strong – King's Landing – 131 AC**

"So tell me Clubfoot, are you with me? For the realm."

The voice that spoke was rough but well-cultured. The man that spoke it even more so; Colys Velaryon, a figure who was perhaps one of the most interesting men alive. The Sea Snake was a man far past his prime but yet stood as strong and resolute as men far younger, truly his valyrian heritage shone through. One of the few Westerosi to see Yi Ti and one of the even fewer to make it back alive.

However despite his charms, Larys had little love for the old Velaryon. While Corlys had done him no wrong, his old ally the Rogue Prince had done him much and plenty. _'And that's why you started the Dance isn't it Larys? Out of spite.'_ His thoughts were special kind of poison, so corrosive in its truth.

"Larys? Are you still with me?" Corlys sounded annoyed at his hesitance, "Speak man!"

Larys blinked thrice and then refocused his vision on the man before him. His guess earlier was correct, Corlys did seem upset, although whether it was to him was the question. "Yes, Velaryon I am listening. Although I must admit that I am not quite certain of what you want from me"

Corlys sighed, "I thought I was being clear" he muttered, "what I want from you Clubfoot is your support and spies. I realise that since Aegon's death we have been… distracted from the larger ongoings of the realm"

' _Speak for yourself, valyrian'_ While Corlys had been busying himself with political strife of the Blacks, Larys had instead spent his time listening. His spies had kept him well informed of the what had been happening in Westeros and beyond. And what delicious happenings they were, the general trend was that the wars were winding down but post-war order? That would surely set the stage for the next century or more.

Still, Larys saw what Corlys wanted from him but the Sea Snake would not gain it freely, "And how may I help you in that area my Lord Regent?" _'Regent? What does such a title mean when half the realm is in open rebellion and the other half despises you?'_ "If I was Master of Whisperers I may have some information to that affect but seeing as I have been put under house arrest..." for the suspicion of killing Aegon II. How could he? Larys had little to gain from the man's death especially after what happened to poor Maelor, but Lord Stark cared little for such things such as facts, evidence or motives.

Corlys had a thoughtful look for a second before narrowing those piercing blue-green eyes of his, "You want your seat on the Small Council?" Larys noted it was not a question but instead a statement. "What else?"

Larys thought quick before answering, "Harrenhal with its lands intact, and a guarantee that Princess Jaehaera will come to no harm. That she will have your protection."

Corlys eyes soften slightly in response before nodded, "I can agree to those terms, now are you with me?" the speed at which he agreed made Larys think that he could have pushed for more before dismissing the thought. _'the higher one rises the greater one falls, just ask the Hightowers'_

Larys sighed before looking at Velaryon's eyes, "For the realm? Yes, you will have my support." support towards what though? That was the question.

The man before him visibly relaxed and sat down, "That makes things much easier, with you at hand we may actually peace before the moon's end."

Peace? How strange the word seemed now, after only two years of war. " _And how many deaths?"_ Deaths caused by his actions, _'what I did was right, if Rhaenyra sat on the throne Daemon would have ruined us all'_ Yes, he was right in what he did. All those deaths had a purpose, it wasn't needless slaughter that could, _should_ have been avoided. It was needed.

Larys forced himself to refocus on the matter at hand, "And, how is that to be achieved, my lord? And where in this would my aid be necessary?"

"Well, I would see you restored as Master of Whisperers" that was a surprise, Larys would have expected Corlys wanting him to stay in Harrenhal till he died quietly and without trouble. The man continued, "with you on the Small Council, Storm's End and the Hightower would see that this peace one of equals not one dictated by sword point" that was good plan and could lead to a good peace. He found nothing to disagree with here, "but Lord Stark wishes for war, why? I know not but he can not be allowed to lead the Blacks if he does then the realm shall come to utter ruin"

Larys thought on what he knew of Lord Stark and on Velaryon's words for a long moment before speaking carefully "What makes you say this my lord?"

Velaryon sighed and spoke angrily, "Stark and I have had disagreements on a few minor matters," _'the Pact'_ Larys realised, a little more than a 'minor matter' as the Sea Snake put it. It was the entire reason why there was a northern army in King's Landing and a good reason why the Greens had not won the war. Still, the man continued "in response, he has threatened to take his army north to sulk in Harrenhal till he receives 'his due', whatever that is."

That would not be good for a number of reasons, the main one being that Black hold on the city was tenuous, ' _that was an understatement'_ and rested mainly on their army of which the North made up the largest contingent. To lose the North now could lead to another uprising in the city, _'the last one killed five dragons and tens of thousands of smallfolk',_ what it said of Larys that he valued the five dragons greater than countless dead he refused to think on.

Larys had to do something he felt and so he spoke up with a warning in his voice "My lord we cannot allow the North to leave the city, if we do then we invite disaster."

The Sea Snake narrowed his eyes at this, "What do you mean by disaster?"

Larys sighed and replied, "Prince Qoren is no longer just the Prince of Dorne but now styles himself as Prince of Dorne and the Stepstones." ' _and that's the least of your troubles. Wait until you hear what the Lyseni are doing'_

The very second he finished speaking, Corlys threw himself up and roared "What! How is that possible?!"

Larys sighed ' _why do I feel like I will be doing that often?'_ , "With the Iron Throne embroiled in civil war, some of the Dornish lords pushed for war in revenge of the Aegon's Conquest"

"Yes, I am aware of this. Rhaenyra offered them concessions if they marched against the Stormlands and the Hightowers in the war. Qoren never replied to her. What does that have to do with it?"

"Well, Qoren decided to go to war after all but chose to look to the east rather than west. He called his banners and chose his son Qyle to lead the invasion."

"Why? The man chose peace did he not?"

"From what I understand, Sunspear's choice of peace did not sit well with the Dornish lords whose blood ran hot, in fact, there were whispers of a conspiracy in the desert forming against him." ' _a conspiracy that he crushed without mercy_ '

Despite his neutrality, only fools would dare call Prince Qoren weak. "At the behest of his children, Qoren was persuaded to war but instead of men marching through the Prince's Pass-"

In his impatience, the Sea Snake interrupted him "They were sailing into Bloodstone and Grey Gallows, yes you have alluded to such. The question here is why?"

Larys buried his irritation of the man infront of him deep, and answered the Lord Regent, "After the Battle of the Gullet, the Triarchy was plagued with infighting paralysing their government to the point of incompetence. To this capitalise on this Braavos formed a coalition between themselves, Pentos and Lorath all united in breaking the Triarchy once and for all."

Corlys looked interested at the news at Essosi had descended to war nearly the same time as the Westerosi had. Larys grew suspicious at this, _'What are you thinking of Sea Snake?'_ When men such as Corlys Velaryon made plans it was the work of men such as Larys to find out what those plans were.

Larys continued, "Dorne entered this war shortly after its inception and on the side of the Braavosi. My spies tell me the Braavo-Dornish fleets swept across the Stepstones unchallenged crushing the remnants of the Triarchy's once grand navy. In the process, Dornish spears occupied key islands as they moved through the archipelago. Qyle Martell took Bloodstone himself with five thousand spears, a bloody and hard-fought victory but victory nonetheless."

After a long moment of silence where Corlys looked contemplative and Larys tried to decipher what the man could be thinking. The valyrian spoke, "Dorne cannot be allowed to hold the Stepstones." The statement was short and made Corlys' thoughts on the matter clear, he continued "With the combined strength of Manderly, Redwyne and Grafton fleets it will be a simple matter to force the Dornish to surrender the Stepstones"

' _Interesting, no mention of the Royal or Velaryon fleets? How curious'_ On paper Corlys' plan was sound if somewhat flawed, however in reality it very much was practically nonsensical. The Redwyne fleet was still very much at war with the Ironborn and it was only due to their efforts that the entirety of the Sunset Sea wasn't an Ironborn fief. To drag them away for a war in the Narrow Sea was unthinkable. Mainly as it would see the Hightower in flames and Oldtown sacked, although the late Queen Rhaenyra probably dreamt about such things. _'And that's even if they don't immediately burn any letters sent by the Blacks'._

As for House Manderly, Larys doubted that the Lord of White Harbour would give Corlys any aid when Houses Stark and Velaryon were so against each other. And that left only the Graftons, of which Larys doubted would be equal to Dorne let alone Braavos.

However what made Larys suspicious was that he was certain, surely Corlys knew about the various strengths of the different houses as well as which would follow him and which would not. Which made Larys suspect that Corlys had been busy scheming, _'what is your plan?'_ however while Larys wondered he was not too concerned about those plans. While Larys feared Corlys, he was confident that the man had the best interests at heart. _'he is not the monster that Daemon was'_

No, the Sea Snake was not the Rogue Prince but was that enough reason for Larys to trust him?

' _For now? Yes'_


	3. A Merman Most Knightly

**Medrick Manderly – Rosby, Crownlands – 131AC**

Walking through the northern camp was always an enjoyable experience in Medrick's experience, while it was a poor substitute to walking through the White Harbour it was leagues above his tours of King's Landing. ' _Not too hard to beat King's Landing'_ he mused. Medrick had always liked being near his men, enjoying their banter and the simplicity of it. The common man had no need for great castles or mighty fleets, for the simple foot all they needed was warm food and good steel. _And like any good commander they had ensured that the men had a good supply of both'._ When Lord Stark had commanded that the army make camp a distance from the city, a number of the northlords had questioned it.

Not directly of course, challenging the Warden of the North on how to lead his army in such a manner was a very easy way to find yourself leading the vanguard. Alone. From the front. And with the rest of the forementioned vanguard behind you a few dozen feet. But rumours of upset had been circulating around, ' _not undeservedly,'_ Medrick thought. If he was honest Medrick could sympathise with the rumours. For him there were was one simple question ' _why was the North shying away from a city they had won?_

The answer to that while known to him, was a bitter one to accept. For while the Northmen had been the largest army in King's Landing at the Battle for King's Landing, and for they all had been the key component of the victors _,_ disagreements between Lords Stark and Velaryon threatened to tear them apart.

' _And to get away from the Sea Snake we retreated to Rosby',_ from what he had heard Rosby had declared for the Blacks at the start of the war but had been captured by the Kingmaker not too long after, since then they had been loyal to the Greens and had even refused to give Rhaenyra shelter after she lost King's Landing. Medrick shook his head as he thought, ' _Are all southerners so faithless?'_ Rosby men had fought for Baratheon at the Battle on the Kingsroad, and so Lord Stark had not been in the mood for mercy or restraint when they took the castle.

Nevertheless when the little girl who was the Lady of Rosby was dragged out infront of the Northern Lords she begged, for restraint and kindess and mercy. He remembered her, as he made his way into the castle; When he had first seen her, she reminded him of his of littlest sister. A girl of twelve, small and pretty as roses. There might have been more to note, but he did not know the little Rosby too much to draw so many comparisons.

Although he was certain that Merla could not be so pitiable as the Rosby. The poor creature had cried so many tears when she was told that her father and uncles had died in the war, and yet found it in her to weep some more when she was told that the Lord Stark would borrowing her castle for some time. After that, Medrick had lost sight of her and while he was not too busy to look for her he was not too motivated to do so either. ' _After all,'_ he mused ' _Cregan Stark does not kill children'_

Although that thought took Medrick's mind to an entirely new subject; Cregan Stark. The Lord Paramount of the North, the Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. The Hand of the King, the Wolf-who-Waited. ' _So many titles, you'd almost think the man was more than simply flesh and blood'._ Cregan was a good lord, Medrick thought, strong and sharp but yet cunning and cautious in equal measure. Where most lords would simply call the banners and coming charging down the Neck with nary a thought otherwise, Cregan instead let North prepare for winter in full, letting the last harvest be gathered and rather than call up all the levies possible Stark asked only for the grey, the childless and those that would rather go hunting in winter rather than let their families starve.

For Medrick that was enough for him to be certain that this Lord Stark was truly worthy and would see the North have redress after the insults levied from the South. And that was what the Heir of White Harbour looked forward to more than anything,' _for too long we have lain at the periphery of this empire, now we take our rightful place at its center'._ What such a future would look like was beyond the Manderly but he was in no doubt that it would be glorious.

The two stern guards infront of him needed no prompt to step aside, and so he entered the personal solar of Rosby. A quick lookaround the room hinted at the poor but proud heritage of House Rosby, but some new features that stood out to him were the direwolf banners hanging on the wall and the man sitting down by the desk which dominated the room.

When Medrick entered the room and closed the door, he found that he was one of the earliest to enter the room of all the northern lords. But even so his eyes focused on the man before him. There were few men that could so brazenly make Lord of White Harbour stand before him and wait, but Cregan Stark was man with few peers. As he was now, sitting at a desk and reading reports gave a unassuming impression of the man.

After a few minutes of awkward waiting, with nothing to break the silence but dry rustle of parchment aganist another, Stark spoke up. Without looking at the man before him Stark spoke, "How is Torrhen doing?"

' _What?',_ Medrick blinked before responding "I have yet to hear from him, my lord but I know he would heartened to hear of your concern for his wellbeing."

This was... curious. As to his knowledge Lord Stark had never met his brother. ' _So why was he asking after him?'_ Torrhen was in many ways the typical Manderly, competent, corpulent and ever so clever. He had more than once wondered about his brother, especially on what to do about him. This was in comparison to Medrick whom was a tall, muscled and was while intelligent could not hope to match wits with Torrhen. While Medrick was undoubtedly the elder and the heir, Torrhen was not the type to simply accept being another of the dozens of cadet branches in the city and so Medrick feared a succession challenge but that was for another time. ' _I know not to be happy or suspicious of such attention on Torrhen'_

Stark kept on reading reports whilst he talked, "Ah, that's fine. I find that its always good to keep ones family close. After all, where would we be without family?" It was at that point Cregan put the papers down and looked at him with a faint smile, leading Lord Manderly to dry swallow out of sheer anxiety.

When he had summoned, the soldier that called him had merely said that Lord Stark was calling for council wth all his lords, and so Medrick found it strange that he was the first to arrive.

Seeing that Manderly would offer no response to him, the Stark sighed before continuing, "My lord, I am sorry to say that I have not been completely honest with you. There is not to be a war council, at least right now. No, I have summoned you so as to discuss with you what our plans for the North after this war."

Stark's face gave little away, his eyes were steely grey that suggested apathy more than anything else, whilst he bore that faint smile that gave absolutely nothing. Medrick blinked rapidly and opened his mouth for a few seconds before giving a reply.

Medrick was uncertain of how to respond but if he stayed silent he would come across as a lackwit in front of his liege lord,, "How can I help you, my lord?"

"Your father, yourself and I are the only highborn signatories of the Pact of Fire and Ice still living," ' _That's not good is it? No, it really is not'._ With the only living signatories for the Pact being Northern that meant that the South had was very unlikely to uphold the agreement. Stark continued, "as you understand this makes the entire northern contribution to the war..." Stark looked thoughtful for a second as he looked for the approriate word, "Defunct."

While Medrick was unaware what the specific terms House Stark had agreed to, he had been the main negotiater for the Manderly section of the Pact. It was the most significant diplomatic and politcal victory to his name, it had made his father realise that fit in both mind and body to lead House Manderly. ' _Not to mention how much crap I had to write for the bloody thing'._ For House Manderly it was rather simple, a royal husband for his sister, exclusive trading rights in specific Essosi and Westerosi ports, – and this is what he was most proud of – the right to set tarrifs on all goods coming in and out of the White Harbour. Everything else was nice to have but it was the tarrif rights that House Manderly were really fighting for, with that they could make the Sea Snake and his precious Spicetown pale in comparison.

Medrick shocked himself with how zealous his response was, "My lord we can not let that happen, Good northmen have died in the name of House Targaryen, for them to abandon us in such a manner is betrayal most foul!"

Stark raised a singular eyebrow to the heat of his reaction, but allowed the Manderly to continue.

"Remember good Lord Roderick! Without his victories in the Riverlands the Blacks would surely be undone! How they dare deny us what we have fought for so vehemently? My lord, give me the names of the whoresons that would try and cheat us out of our victory, and before the moon's end I shall deliver unto you their heads!" At some point in his rant, Stark started chuckling softly and had yet to stop by the time Manderly had. While Medrick panted hot breaths in his shaking rage, Stark was quietly laughing to himself. Medrick narrowed his eyes at the man before him and ' _Does he think I jape?'_ "My lord, I hope you understand that I mean every last one of my words and-"

Stark rose up his hand, stopping the Manderly mid-sentance, "I do not doubt you, Medrick." He rose from his seat and walked around the aged rosewood desk until he stood two arms length away from the Manderly. As he walked, Stark maintained eye contact, "Understand that I do not laugh to mock you, but I laugh at myself." At Medrick's dumbfounded look, Stark continued "Let me elaborate, my lord. I had feared that you advise me to abandon the Pact. I know that there has been much uncertainty in the North due to the disagreements between myself and my uncle."

' _Disagreeements were an understatement'_ Medrick thought, for most northern lords the mummer's show of the South was a tertiary concern to the power struggles of Winterfell. Cregan's uncle Bennard Stark had been Lord Regent of the North for the nigh a decade before Cregan had him imprisoned with his three sons. House Manderly even now was techinically on the side of Bennard as Medrick's father Desmond had been friends with Bennard and had even married one of his niece's to one of Bennard's sons. ' _Even now, most of the North shuns this campaign in support of Bennard'_ Medrick mused, while the North lords had sent their levies as Cregan commanded, the only highborn of note was himself, Cregan and one or two Glover or Karstark cousins of barely worth speaking about.

There was a reason behind this mild disrespect, while Cregan seemed a good lord, he was a new and still very much untested. As much as he held the right to rule, there was always the chance that he would die young and with a babe as Lord of Winterfell, leaving his uncle- who had an heir, a spare and an extra – to once again rule the North. Lords who supported Cregan over Bennard would undoubtedly suffer if, ' _or when'_ Bennard became Regent once more. In fact had it not been for the Pact of Ice and Fire of which that he directly had a stake in, Medrick himself would most likely still be in the Merman's Court and House Manderly would have sent a minor cousin to lead their levies in his place like the rest of the Northern lords.

Still that did not mean that Medrick would completely abandon Bennard for Cregan or vice versa, ' _nobody said that the option was mutually exclusive',_ "Fear not, my lord. House Manderly knows who the Lord of Winterfell is and our swords will never abandon him." Stark's pleased smile said much about his feelings on the matter.

"I can not tell you how much that gladdens me my lord, truly I am lucky to find such loyal men such as yourself." Stark took a small sip from a cup beside him, "But before find myself distracted I should tell you why I have called you, as I said earlier ' _some'_ Lords think that the terms of the Pact should be re-negotiated. In protest of this I have moved the host a small distance away from the capital." Stark's stressing of the word some, gave no guesses as to who he was talking about. ' _Velaryon'._

The Valyrian was currently the Lord Regent of the Iron Throne and currently held all the cards politically; he was the only one who had acesss to the young King Aegon III who was being kept in Maegor's Holdfast, through his trade contracts he held ties to many Houses both Black and Green making him vital when it would come to discuss the peace – which seemed to be soon with the raven flying to and fro the city - ' _not to mention the great big dragon he has'._ If anyone would be a rival to Stark in the Black faction it would be the Sea Snake.

Medrick wondered about what Cregan's plan was, moving the army north while it definitely sent a message across it was largely futile. The war was nearly over, what did Corlys Velaryon care if the Northmen went home? "What can we do about this my lord?"

"Well that is why I have invited you here my lord, while I have already set plans in place to _convince_ Lord Corlys to try and change his mind on the matter of the Pact, I sought to hear the counsel of one of my most leal lords."

While Medrick recognised the blatant praise for what it was, he was still more than pleased to hear it, but he thought on how he could advise his liege in a fair and just manner. "My lord, what we should do is end this war in truth." At Cregan's interested look, Medrick elaborated "despite the victories won by the good Lord Roderick I fear that our allies think that we have been lacksidasical in this war. What we need to do is remind them that without us they would have long since lost this war."

Cregan's interest in Medrick's idea had yet to abate, "And how to think we should do that my lord?"

Smiling widely now Medrick continued enthused, "We march south past King's Landing then into the Kingswood to break completely the remnants of the late Lord Borros' army. from there we follow the Roseroad southwest to-"

"-Oldtown and the Hightower" Cregan's interest was replaced with a more savage look so terrible that Medrick was forced to repress a shudder.

Medrick now too impassioned continued on "And on the journey south we will teach the Houses who dared turn their cloak on our late Queen the costs of betrayal"

The Merman looked the Wolf right in his grey eyes and finished, "My lord when you stand as conquerer of the Hightower with the Reach aflame before you, let us then see if the Snake can deny you then."


	4. The Magnificent Prince

**Lysandro Rogare - Sebrāedāzma Lentor, Lys – 131AC**

"What do you mean we can't ransom him?!" Lysaro's look of rage was as worrying to him as look of rage upon a wet cat. _'_ _How is it that of all my_ _children_ _, it is my eldest that is the most disappointing_ _'_

Lysandro barely held back a sigh and instead maintained the light smile he reserved for stupid children, _'of which I have far too many'._ The First Magister stroked his neatly trimmed beard in consternation before replying, "My son, had you asked me a two days ago I would have agreed with you whole heartedly but things have changed-"

Lysaro's incredulous voice rang out across room, "How?! Last I checked the brat is same as he always is, quiet as an Unsullied only not as impressive. Honestly for the last of the dragonlords, he is just..." Lysaro's physical exertion to find words made Lysandro wonder whether the money he had spent on tutors for his son were completely incompetent or was his son just a complete fool, _'where did I go wrong with you Lysaro?'_

Regardless, the boy seemed to forget who was the power behind the Rogare Family. Lysandro had not spent decades becoming the First Magister of Lys, for some fool boy to disrespect him in his own manse. "Lysaro, my son listen to me. Viserys Targaryen is guest of the Sebrāedāzma and so he will be treated as one, that is the last I will hear of it." despite Lysandro's naturally soft voice, there was hard steel behind his words and any disputes that Lysaro had died on his lips.

His face scrunched up like a piece of paper before he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, muttering curses under his breath as he made his way out. Unfortunately knocking a poor slave down and spilling the jug of wine she was carrying.

Another audible sigh, a massage of the temples and Lysandro once more wondered what god he angered to get a son who seemed determine to ruin his father's empire if only through extreme incompetence. Lysandro turned to one of his loyal mīsio, "Tell me, my friend, where did I go wrong with the boy?" his voice, pained and tired.

A voice loud and gruff, seemingly unsuited to the flowing tongue of Lysene called back to him. "You let the boy grow up without spoilt and without humility, with how big his ego is it is a wonder how he can walk through doorways." Some of the other guards laughed at the insult, even Lysandro allowed a small smile and a chuckle. The voice paused for a second as if thinking then continued, "Well knowing his father I suppose it's easy to see where he gets the arrogance from"

It was to that comment that made Lysandro laugh openly, if only for a few seconds. Lysandro mused on the ridiculousness of it, if anyone not borne of Lys came upon a 'mere' guard jest of Lysandro Rogare in front of the others even in a private setting they would have wondered why such a man who was a peer to the High Lords of the Sunset Kingdoms and the Sealord of Braavos would allow such mockery. It was simply a product of Lysene culture, the mīsio were not mere slaves but instead freemen or even minor nobility who had been raised alongside their men that they would one day protect, fight and maybe die for. A relatively new tradition borne in the Bleeding Years, either way it was all history and thinking on a subject for so long would bore him.

Lysandro rose to leave, but leaving a passing comment "Well I suppose I should try to see if my head can fit through doorway lest I find myself stuck here and forced to listen to more of Matanys' shit." As he left, the guffaws and snickers of the mīsio followed him.

As he strolled through his manse he was followed by two more of his mīsio as they moved one of the mīsio who followed him, Melgaris asked him "So where are we off to, my most noble prince?".

Lysandro sighed, "We have known each other for decades, you can do without the flowery titles. I am not a Volatene," Lysandro thought to continue but saw the self-satisfied smirk out the corner of his eye and chose to say nothing more of the subject. He grumbled half-heartedly, _'_ _Why are my men the most unruly of all Lys?'_ _"_ One day, Melgaris I will beat you in a spar and finally wipe that smug little smile off your face"

The mīsio's smile only grew to an even more aggravating extent, which made Lysandro genuinely consider what would happen if he punched him in the face. Only to then remember that he was rather flabby middle-aged aristocrat who's main physical exertion was the occasional amateur duel whereas Melgaris was a mature and veteran killer who routinely fought against two or even three sellswords at a time and won more often than not. And judging from the somehow even more smug smile of the man, he was very well aware of this.

One long-suffering sigh later, and Lysandro was once again willing to talk to his own men. As they were nearing the southern house which held the Westerosi prince, Lysandro resumed his conversation, "So what has been heard about the Black Swan recently, maybe the gods have been merciful and she has died". The mīsio snickered at the thought of one of the courtesan's lovesick pets killing her. Leyrandis replied first, his voice clear and reflecting his largely jovial nature "No, not yet at least. After all with the portly men that lay upon her it is inevitable that one of them has finally crushed her." The laughter of the three men followed them even as they entered the home of their esteemed guest.

The house was grand and spacious, decorated with limestone statues of playing children, or frolicking nymphs. The house was large enough to be considered its own separate manse but the Rogares named it a mere guest house, telling all those who came that the pockets of the first house were so great that they could afford to use such a building so nonchalantly. All that and more went through the mind of Lysandro.

Currently, the Targaryan Prince was the only guest of the Sebrāedāzma but it the palace could easily hold dozens at a time, but with the unfortunate troubles of the Dārion mean that guests who merited a stay at the Sebrāedāzma were few and far between leaving the poor Targaryan rather lonely in the manse alone. _'_ _Although now looking at it, that might have been for the best_ _'._ There was a reason why Lysandro chose to do away with their original plans for the Targaryan. Afterall, no amount of gold was worth a _dragon._

 **Viserys Targaryen - Sebrāedāzma Lentor, Lys – 131AC**

Every night it was the same dream.

" _Go! Save yourself!"_

Without change or alteration.

" _Vis'! I won't leave you! I won't!"_

He wondered if Aegon saw the same dream.

" _He's not big enough, Aegon I won't make it! Just go! Before they get you!_

Of course, that was on the basis that Aegon was alive.

" _Vis, I'll come back for you I swear! I'll get mother and she'll get you!_

Was anyone still alive? His father, his brothers, his aunt; they had all died before he left. Maybe Aegon had joined them.

" _Don't forget me."  
_

Viserys lay upon the featherbed of the room he was sleeping in, simply staring upwards to the elaborately beautiful mural that adorned his wall. If one of the slaves came in to observe him – and they did regularly – they would say that he was appreciating the artwork. And if he was asked about it, he would say that it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen and that he was honoured to even spend a night underneath it.

If he was honest, he really didn't care. If the ceiling above him featured a mural or was grey or was simply nothing. Words couldn't define how little of he cared about anything. Even the dragon. When it was hatched, Viserys was in awe of the creature. Now? After the novelty had worn off, the creature seemed far less amazing than before.

If anything Viserys was closer to cursing the beast than loving it, if the damned dragon had been born a year ago then maybe he could have done something. Stayed with mother and Aeg and Jace and Luce and Joff. If he had been stronger or bigger he could have fought as well, things would have been different. He wouldn't have been weak, stupid Viserys, he'd make them all proud. If only the damn dragon had been born earlier.

He hadn't named it yet, nothing seemed to fit. He had tried both Valyrian and Westerosi names but neither seemed to fit. So for the past three days, he had simply called it 'creature' or 'dragon' and for now, it was fine. Speaking of his dragon it was a light blue colour that reminded him of the sky, azure was the word? _'_ _Eh, who cares.'_ He thought dismissively, ' _Blue is blue_ _'._ Currently, it lay beside him quietly sleeping, Viserys absent-mindedly stroked the creature as he lay there.

Either way, he didn't think the colour of the dragon really mattered, only the size and how many men it could kill in a pass. Syrax and Caraxes were far better for that kind of thing. Syrax was the personal dragon of a queen and his father had forged a kingdom on the back of Caraxes. If Viserys had a dragon like that then things would have been different. _'I could be with mum and Aeg and the rest',_ he wondered what the Lyseni would do to him.

If they were going to kill him then they were taking definitely taking their time on the matter, maybe they'd give him back for money. He didn't remember the specific word for it, he was certain it started with an 'r' but beyond that, he didn't know. He felt bad for his forgetfulness, Old Munkun had spent ages teaching him words like that. Maybe this was why he was stuck in Lys while the rest of his family were at home. All the others had their dragons, they had all learnt the histories of Great Valyria and House Targaryen maybe the two were linked?

Viserys was interrupted from his musings by a knock upon his door. Which was shortly followed by the oaken door sweeping forward. _'Should I raise myself to meet my guest or should I just continue resting?'._

"Good afternoon, Prince Viserys. I am your host, Magister Lysandro Rogare."

Viserys blinked rapidly at the greeting, he had yet to be formally told where he was yet. All he knew was that he was living in Lys and that was more because there was literally only one Free City that was south of the Stepstones and he remembered his father cursing them on more than one occasion.

Of course, he wouldn't be saying that to his host. No, while Viserys didn't recognise the name of his host, he understood that he wouldn't be someone that could be trifled with. And so Viserys rose up from the featherbed and saw his host for the first time. He winced at the annoyed shriek from the dragon as he moved and stopped stroking it.

The first thing the boy realised was that he was tall, maybe even taller than father or uncle Viserys. He was dressed very richly, with even more jewels than mother; diamond encrusted rings, silk robes, ruby earrings, gold necklaces and even a silver circlet upon his head. The idea that the Lyseni would sell him back home seemed less and less likely, as the man's attire alone was easily worth the ransom of a dozen kings. How would such a man be swayed the measly coin of one prince?

"Prince Viserys, I understand that while you came to the city of Lys the Lovely less than ideal circumstances, I hope your stay at the Sebrāedāzma has been nothing but pleasant."

He thought for a second before responding in shaky High Valyrian, "I have nothing to complain about, my lord. Your home is surely equal to any palace of Westeros." _Why did I compare him to Westeros?'_ Father had told him plenty of times that merchant lords of Essos felt themselves superior to the nobility of Westeros and so calling the Lyseni equal to the Westerosi would no doubt anger him.

Despite Viserys inner worries, the Lyseni before him gave no indication that he felt anger or anything of such emotion. He maintained a serene smile that didn't reach his eyes but gave off an amicable or even friendly atmosphere. His silky smooth voice continued, "I am most grateful for your kind words, Prince Viserys. It is rare that Lys houses a Targaryan Prince, even rarer that we host an actual dragon. Have you named her?"

' _Her?'_ Viserys look down to the dragon, and he couldn't even guess a gender for the dragon. Maybe the Lyseni had seen a dragon before. _'If so then, where?'_ "Erm, No?" Viserys was completely unready for this conversation especially after half a week of luxurious isolation and preceding weeks of being a prisoner in a Myrish warship.

The magister before him was more than willing to pickup conversation where Viserys left off, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "Oh yes, it is hard to tell but there are slight physical and behavioural differences between male and female dragons. The most noticeable one is that for male dragons they have noticeably raised spikes upon their spine starting at the end of the skull and ending the tail. Your dragon lacks this, leading me to think it is a she."

Viserys was confused, not by the knowledge, but by the Lyseni having such knowledge."How-"

Pre-empting Viserys' question, the man spoke quickly but not hastily "How do I know this? Lyseni is a centre of Valyrian knowledge equal to only to Volantis herself in all the world and even then the Old Blood have forgotten things Lys has not. And reading has always been a favourite habit of mine."

Seeing that Viserys was speechless, the Lyseni continued; "Regardless, I am sorry to say that this is not a casual visit, I have come to inform you that the civil war which has plagued your kingdom has come to an end-"

"It's over!" The boy shouted in joy. He all but lept off the bed in excitement, cheer and jubilation coursing through his entire body. _'I can go home! Thank the Seven, its over!'_ Picking up on his master's joy the dragon also began to flap and give raspy roars in imitation of Viserys' shouts and cheers.

The Lyseni watched silently for a full minute as the young prince celebrated, before cutting through his joy, "I would not celebrate too soon my prince, your mother; Queen Rhaenyra died in the latter days of the war. And I can not say that it is not your uncle, King Aegon that sits the throne."

The effects on Viserys were seen immediately, the shouts of joy ceased to nothing and his entire body went rigid with shock. _'They're dead, they're all dead',_ with such mournful thoughtsViserys fell back on the bed sitting down. His spine as rigid as a statue, he seemed to on the brink of tears but he clenched on his fists in an attempt to hold back his emotions but even so there was a definite wetness on the edge of his eyes.

The boy looked up to the man before him, "do you know if Aegon, my brother, is alive?"

The Lyseni adopted a mournful look, but once again failed to reach his eyes, "I can not say with confidence that he is alive or dead. News from Westeros comes from the mouth of merchants and travellers, and as such is very slow and uncertain."

Viserys put his hands and as he sobbed, he thought to himself, ' _I thought I could handle this, I thought I would be strong enough to deal with this… I'm nothing, an Orphan Prince. I have nothing, I am alone"_ his dragon tried to console him with soft and gentle croons but to no avail.

However the prince was soon broken from his misery by a gentle hand resting on his shoulder, he looked up from his mourning, eyes red and tears lining his face to the sympathetic gaze of the Lyseni before him.

"I am so sorry Viserys and know that from the bottom of my heart you have my condolences. I knew your father personally and respected him deeply." Viserys' violet eyes met the light blue of the magister and saw nothing but warmth and sympathy.

The magister pulled Viserys in for an embrace and while the boy was hesitant at first, he collapsed into the hug, weeping profusely into the shoulder of the older man.

"You entered my home a beloved prince and so I would have you remain one."

The magister disengaged from the hug to look the boy in the eyes, to ensure that the gravity of his words were felt fully.

"From this moment on, you are to be my son. The Prince of Lys. Do you want this, Viserys? To have a family once more?"

The boy was astounded by the turn of events, but he held enough of his wits to respond.

"Yes… father"

And once more they embraced, Viserys mourning the family he lost and praising the gods for the family he had gained, the magister gently consoling the boy in his embrace all the while his cold blue eyes were focused on the light blue dragon.


	5. The Smoke and the Fire

**Eliza Tyrell - Highgarden, the Reach - 132 AC**

"By the Seven, you can see the fire from here."

Who said that Eliza couldn't tell but the statement that undeniable in its truth. She had heard that the war was terrible, especially in its cost but it was quite another to have the effects so close to home. ' _Gods give me strength'_ , Highgarden's neutrality in the war had spared it from the devastation but the peace enjoyed by Highdarden was very quickly tarnished when the refugees from across the Reach began flooding into Grasston (the castle-town of Highgarden) and nearby villages.

At first, the burden was not too great and was at best a minor issue that she barely noticed when compared to her main task of maintaining the Highgarden itself. The Bailiff of Grasstown was more than able to handle the influx, although not without a small amount of grumbling. Then came the Second Tumbleston, and the Rise of the Red Kraken; what was a small trickle of refugees became a flood. While there had not been any great battles in the southern or central Reach, broken men from the battles had turned bandit and had ravaged the rest of the Reach. Forcing the smallfolk to flee southwards and causing her more than a few sleepless nights. The usual response for this would have been for the Lord of Highgarden to raise host to crush the bandits but Eliza dare not commit to any military actions, lest Hightower or Goldengrove think that the Tyrells had broken neutrality. And if either thought that the Tyrells had picked a side then it would reignite the cooling war to even more horrific scales, ' _more killing, more rapes, more hate'._ Gods, if there was an easy solution to this then she did not see it. Eliza gave a quick prayer to the Seven, ' _Had I been a man, or had Garland_ _possessed the good sense to not die we would not be in this bloody mess_ ' _,_ but if words were wind then wishes were blunt knives for a butcher. And her wishes could not be allowed to distract her from the reality of the matter at hand.

Eliza gave one more cursory look at the rising smoke in the distance, then turning to a nearby Elsmere, her personal attendant "Gather the council, tell them to meet me in the Sage Tower. With haste." Before the servant even finishes his bow, Eliza was already walking away, her two guards respectfully staying a considerable distance behind her. ' _Men with swords, is that all that decides this world?'_ As the Lady and Regent of Highgarden and one of its Regents, she commanded not an inconsiderable number of men with swords. Although she was less than certain if that would be enough, fresh Reacher levies and men-at-arms against veteran Northerners? Such an outcome was not easily predicted. ' _If someone told me a week ago that I would be wishing for the days of dealing with bandits...'_

But this fresh migraine was not the actions of a few bands of broken men but instead a gods-damned northern army. Eliza mused on why this army was here,' _Isn't this war over? There are no more green claimants, surely the blacks have won.'_ Aegon the Younger now sat the Iron Throne with the Seasnake and Stark ruling in his name. But the question 'why' was to be dealt at later dates as the question of 'how to deal it' was far more immediate. What recent reports that she gained of the invading force was scarce at best and more often than not hearsay from fleeing smallfolk, but what was definite was that they stayed close to the Mander and the Roseroad, burning and killing Green strongholds as they marched south. ' _Oh they have become very good at that',_ she mused darkly. While the current movements of the Northerners were difficult to discern, they had received sparse ravens from the holdfasts and keeps pleading for the support only to then fall silent when Highgarden sent a reply. ' _Lyberr, Cockshaw, Johnsbury,_ _and then Bitterbridge'._ The siege of Bitterbridge had been a quick affair but the savagery was incredible in its scope. While the smallfolk had undoubtedly been hyperbolic in some of their stories if even a tenth of what they had spoken off was true… ' _The neutrality must be broken lest Highgarden suffers the fate of Bitterbridge or the Tumbleston_ ' _._

\- - BREAK - -

As Eliza sat in the council room of the Highgarden, she waited quietly for the rest of the council. She had been sitting in the ornate room for little more than five minutes, ignoring the centuries-old decorations of the cavernous space. As beautiful and historic as they were she doubted that they would help her decide on whether or not to declare war on the blacks. Because that's what they would be doing, raising a host to go and kill blacks. Regardless that it would be in entirely self-defence, nobody would care about the subtleties.

The woman was taken out of her musings by the greetings of the ageing and portly maester, who had just entered, 'Greetings to you, my Lady. How fare you this bright morn?'

She gave him an unamused look before replying tersely, "Well, Henryk." She made the man squirm uncomfortably as she stared at him dispassionately before giving looking away. The maester was Reacher born, most likely related to the Hightowers or one of their vassals. Regardless the man was their patsy and needed to be dealt with sooner or later. But that was what she knew on a surface level, a man as spineless as Henryk no doubt had more than one master and that was made him a threat more than anything else. She knew he was a threat but the man was just so pathetic, Eliza found it difficult to take him seriously as a threat. She smiled dismissively at the thought of the maester being a credible threat, _'the fool is barely worth the effort if there is to be a purge then he is to be the last_ '. As she tore her gaze towards the entrance of the room it was just in time for the next figure to enter the room.

The Master-of-arms of Highgarden, Ser Barth Tyrell strutting into the room dressed like the peacock in fabulous green and gold, with his every stride he reminded her just why she labelled him to be a ponce. The knight was almost the polar opposite of the maester that had entered before him. Handsome, virile, and every bit the dashing knight. Even out of plate armour, he still cut a figure that could only be described as heroic. Unfortunately, Eliza remarked where the Seven had blessed him in looks and skill, he was more than a little lacking in common sense. Example being that when he had first heard of the death of Prince Lucerys his first instinct had been to demand for Highgarden to sack Oldtown and march on King's Landing, possibly at the same time. ' _Which would have been… difficult to say the least._ ' The man was a soldier, and even then he was better killing men than commanding them. Even now the ponce was sending her looks that he no doubt considered sultry and enticing, she had no qualms in denying all his advances regardless of how appealing he was. She was the mother to next Lord of Highgarden and the widowed Lady of Highgarden, it was below her dignity to have such a relationship with the knight. ' _Although, he is very easy on the eyes, let us not lie'._

The knight made an overly flamboyant bow aimed at her, a teasing smile in his eyes. As he rose back up he spoke with a rich baritone, "It is an honour to be in the presence of one as radiant as yourself, Lady Eliza".

For his efforts, she rewarded him with a small smile, "Thank you, Ser. Although I wonder how great a wonder it is if it took you long to come to once summoned.". If she expected the man to be even slightly diminished then her hopes were to be dashed.

The ponce was still smiling but made to sit down as he spoke, "But my fair lady, I cannot shirk my duties. For who else could train the men in ways of war? Any day now we are to march! The men need their commander." he emphasised his point by banging the oaken table. The resounding bang echoed across the room.

"Forgive me dear good-sister, but I must agree with our dear knight, the men need their drills." Instead of one extra member of the council entering the room, there were two. Alester and Mern Tyrell, the steward and castellan respectively. They were perhaps the most important members of council in her eyes - barring herself of course, both were competent and held considerably powerful connections to the rest of House Tyrell. They were less remarkable than Barth physically but they held far more cunning. They looked slightly similar with their pale complexions and brown, curly hair but one could barely mistake them for brothers due to the stark differences in facial structure. Alester was the more handsome between the two but Eliza thought that due to his young and boyish looks than anything else, Mern was physically older and marginally taller but his actual age was difficult to discern so Eliza did not attempt to. In all honesty, their physical attributes were irrelevant to their connections.

Connections that she did not possess. As much as she needed them to aid her in maintaining her control over Highgarden it did not help that she was aware that they were the most likely to usurp her position as Regent of Highgarden. Eitherway she needed to put that to the back of her mind and focus on the matter at hand.

As the one to call the meeting it made sense that she calls it into order as well, "I have called this meeting of the council to discuss what course of action should Highgarden take in response to the new threat at our doorstep."

The interruption from the ponce was both expected and uninspired, still smiling he threw himself up and roared, "Raise a host and smash the damned northerners!" After just being stared at for a few no doubt uncomfortable minutes. The smile became a little strained and he sat back down.

Eliza's reply showed little of the tiredness she felt, "Thank you for that… suggestion Ser Barth, but I dare say that the council more than a sentence to choose a course of action."

"Perhaps Barth was a little crude in his suggestion, my dear lady but the good Ser has the right of it. Highgarden's neutrality now stands in the way of its survival." Mern's support of Barth was startling but Eliza was too seasoned in politics to let any of it show. Mern or Alester for that matter rarely supported Barth, only doing so in the few instances where it suited them rather than familial love. ' _So that the fact they are_ _doing it now is quite concerning_ ' _,_ unsurprisingly the most divisive issue for the council was the war and the neutrality of Highgarden.

House Tyrell itself actually leaned more black than anything else, how could they not when the Hightower ascendency in the Reach was so great that it threatened the Tyrell's position as Lord of Paramount. Eliza was certain that if not for her then Highgarden would have thrown their support behind the Black Queen, ' _how would that have changed things I wonder'_.

Eliza focused her gaze on the last one to speak, "Do you have anything to share, my lord?" The sickly smile he gave her did not leave her with much hope that whatever he said would be in her favour.

"Why in fact, I do dear good sister. We should raise a host as Ser Barth said but we should join with the Northmen! King Viserys made it clear that Queen Rhaenyra was to be his heir, It was the Hightower and Aegon the Usurper that chose to go against his edict and started the war which has despoiled our land. I agreed with our neutrality on the basis it kept our house and lands peaceful but that was clearly a mummers play." While Mern maintained the attention of the room as he spoke he made sure to look at her when he spoke of neutrality and mummers, making the intent behind his words clear. "To see the lie that was the peace all we must do is just look around us, are not the smallfolk flooding into Grasston every day? Bringing with them stories of death and horror, and that was months before the Northerners If we want peace in our land, then there is one clear course of action in my mind."

A more feminine voice interrupted him, "War, is that what you wanted to say, my Lord? That if we want peace then we must fight for it? Hmm? Is that the conclusion of your speech? Hmm? Well, thats a very interesting conclusion that if we want to stop the killing and death what we must do is have more killing and death. I know not how that works, but I then I am but a simple woman and so I can not be expected know too much about how the world works but even that is a little hard to believe." Eliza had sparred verbally with the man often and so knew how to deal with him in the war of words.

The patsy made his own stance known on the matter despite no one asking his opinion or even looking at him, "I must say I agree with Lady Eliza on this matter, my lords. The conflict will not end with more violence, what it needs are peace and forgiveness." the doughy smile that he had while he spoke could charitably described as friendly and uncharitably described as simple-minded. Nevertheless, the man had supported her in this and for that she would try to be slightly nicer to him if only for a little while.

She looked to the one who had yet to speak and who could be the deciding voice in this, "And what do you think on this matter Lord Alester?".

The man had maintained a contemptlative look for the majority of the meeting but when his name called he lazily made to look at her. He then sighed before looking to Lord Mern, and then back at her before he spoke. "I think we need to err on the side of caution, and no matter what course action we take we will need to speak from a position of strength. I say that we maintain the neutrality but we should raise the banners and open up dialogue with the northmen." he sounded tired as if he had just woken up. Eliza mused on how she could turn this to her advantage, Alester's words had planted him firmly in the middle ground if slightly leaning towards the side of fighting for the blacks.

Although it was an only short amount of time before Mern's words knocked her out of her musings, "That cannot be our course of action, the middle ground is not acceptable."

Her reply was as sharp as it was quick, "To whom my lord? To you? Well, that is a shame but one that I am sure we can live with."

The man shot her a nasty glare for the comment, and continued as if she had not spoken, "Laugh as you will, my lady but this state of affairs can not be allow to be continued" he then looked to the Ser Barth and nodded. To which the man then left the room. ' _What is their plan?'_ Eliza wondered on what mummers play the two Tyrells were enacting.

"House Tyrell has stood as the Lord Paramount of the Reach for the last century and a half, for all the insults that those more envious has given us from the descending from the stewards of the Gardeners have we not led the Reach well? The Green Kingdom has flourished under the steady hand of the Golden Rose. And as a descendant of I refuse to let anyone challenge that."

Mern once more captured the attention of his audience, before speaking, his elegant voice brimming with confidence and fervor that beginning to worry her considerably more than it should. The door opened and entered Ser Barth but he had not come alone, flanked by four guardsmen Eliza dry swallowed as she realised what was unfolding before her eyes.

"I believe that Highgarden cannot be properly commanded by a woman and I so request that Lady Eliza step down from her position as Regent and thus excuse herself from the council room."

The woman's shock could not be understated, this was not something that she predicted to happen at all. A coup was perhaps the last thing she expected to happen, mainly because she was the mother to next Lord of Highgarden and the fact that she felt that she did a good job as being Regent all things considered. She looked around the council, seeking if there was anyone that could aid her. The maester looked apologetic but largely unwilling to do anything, Alester while looking as shocked at the turn of events as she was but he seemed largely compliant to this course of action. ' _Am I so friendless as that?'_

When it came clear that she would not move from the room, Mern nodded at one of the guards to have her escorted out the room. Eliza rose from her seat before the guard could lay a hand upon her, and then chose to make her exit. ' _I will have my dignity if nothing else',_ as Eliza left the room she hear the last remarks of the new Lord Regent, "Welcome, sers to a new age."


End file.
